


Slow Morning

by the_pen_is_mightier



Series: waking up to you [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Hugging, Kissing, M/M, Tenderness, They love each other, Waking Up, morning fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: A morning without fear, without responsibility, with nothing but love
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: waking up to you [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504895
Comments: 30
Kudos: 177





	Slow Morning

Aziraphale woke with his forehead pressed against Crowley’s chest. 

He didn’t know that was where he was. He didn’t know much, wasn’t aware of much, beyond the fact that he was wrapped in an infinitely pleasant sensation - that he was surrounded by warmth and that he felt inexplicably, inexpressibly safe. His eyes were closed. He made no immediate effort to open them. 

It smelled nice, here in this cocoon. Crowley smelled like sweat and greenery and the spices he cooked with. He’d always carried a whiff of brimstone about him, before, when the world was different and their love was dangerous. Aziraphale had always smelled faintly of the sterile halls of Heaven. But they’d left behind much of their angelic and demonic natures, after saving the world. Aziraphale breathed deeply and could detect nothing now but humanity. 

The body around him shifted slightly. At last Aziraphale opened his eyes, making himself aware of the scene; his arms were around Crowley’s thin waist, and Crowley’s arms enfolded his wider frame. He’d buried his face into Crowley’s chest at some point in the night. They hadn’t fallen asleep holding each other; Aziraphale had come to bed later, and merely taken Crowley’s hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, as he tucked himself under their covers. They must have moved to this position in the night. 

“My Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley shifted again. “Hmm?” 

“Don’t move, love.” Aziraphale kissed his chest softly, just above his heart. “Stay right there.”

Obligingly Crowley kept still. Aziraphale nuzzled up against his chest, kissing him again, and then moved his hands from Crowley’s waist up to his shoulder blades. Crowley was relaxed in his arms. There was no strain in him, not a single atom of uncertainty; he melted into Aziraphale’s touch without a second thought. He let out a little hum of contentment as Aziraphale’s kisses traveled up toward his shoulders.

“You are truly breathtaking, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley laughed lightly. “Pot calls the kettle breathtaking.” 

“And so kind.” 

Crowley broke his directive for stillness, then, and his hand found Aziraphale’s hair, combing tenderly through his curls. “Hmm. Pot calls the kettle kind.” 

Aziraphale scooted upward so he and Crowley were face-to-face; Crowley’s eyes were closed, his mouth curled up into an easy, blissful smile. Aziraphale grinned and planted a light kiss on his nose.

“And you’re infuriating,” he said.

Crowley’s eyes cracked open. His smile curled up more, flashing suddenly with mischief. “Pot calls the kettle -”

“Oh, shut it.” Aziraphale smacked him. 

Crowley’s arms were back around him suddenly, pulling him down, against him once more. Aziraphale sank willingly into the embrace. Crowley could be strong, when he wanted to be; he could keep Aziraphale so close to him that not even a breath could pass between them. He could hold Aziraphale so still that no worries, no insecurities could find him. He could shelter Aziraphale so that Heaven would never see him again. 

Aziraphale kissed Crowley on the cheek. Breathed in his scent again. The most beautiful thing in his life, and he got to wake up to it every morning. 

“Let’s stay in today,” Crowley whispered.

“Oh yes?” Aziraphale leaned his head against Crowley’s, relishing this ocean of touch, relishing being held. 

“Yeah. Let’s not leave this bed. No one’s checking up on us - what’s it matter if we’re lazy?” Crowley kissed his lips gently, a slow, lingering kiss that spoke of endless more just like it, over endless, uninterrupted days. “How about it, angel?”

Aziraphale sighed as their lips broke apart. “I can handle a bit of laziness, I think.” 

The morning was not interrupted. Eventually Aziraphale miracled breakfast for them both, as neither wanted to move; Aziraphale would have been outraged at the messiness of eating syrup-drenched waffles in bed, but Crowley promised to clean up the mess. They didn’t stir once breakfast was finished.

“I adore you, you know,” Aziraphale said, his head buried in Crowley’s chest once more.

“Mmmph.” Crowley kissed the top of his head. “Love you too, angel. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @[whatawriterwields](https://whatawriterwields.tumblr.com)!


End file.
